The Enemy of My Enemy
by CSHighland
Summary: In the aftermath of war, hope is a precious commodity and can sometimes be found in the place you least expect it. The enemy of your enemy can become your friend, and passion can light that friendship on fire and blaze into something more...


_Author's Notes: This story is a response to the Hermione's Hat Challenge on GrangerEnchanted. The assigned pairing was Hermione/Terrence Higgs, which prompted a response from me of, "Who?" A quick Google & Wiki later ("Oh... THAT guy!") and I dove right in._

_The story was written based on the following prompt:_

_**"Seduced by the smirk of his lips, the curl of his hair and the filthy cigarette smoke puffed from his mouth…this could possibly be the best birthday yet."**_

_It also had a bonus photo prompt, which I used __**heavily **__in the writing of the fic. The photo is located at __http: / / cdn dot lightgalleries dot net / 4bd5ec0986181 / images / 2010_Celeb_Snaps_v1_02-1 dot jpg (Remove the spaces and replace dot with . so you can view the image.)_

_This fic contains coarse language (possibly extreme, depending on your own standards) and some lovely, lovely lemons. It also contains hints of UST, Violence and Non-Con... sort of... if you squint and look at it sideways... _

_Incidentally, this is my first fic in this fandom and I joined the challenge to jump-start my creative juices in this `verse. Special thanks to MistressMalfoy for letting me join the challenge at a late date and for her efforts in supporting this fandom by adminstrating GrangerEnchanted and by writing so many of my favorite fics on the site._

_Extra mega-uber-special thanks to my friend, Tatsuyuri, for beta reading for me, even though this is not her usual fandom. Domo arigato, darlin'. I owe you one!_

_**Disclaimer: All belongs to the Deity-Goddess of the HPverse, JK Rowling. I own nothing except for a fictional Wizarding nightclub called Aftermath. Please don't sue me. I'd only be able to pay the court costs in fictional Aftermath tee shirts and coasters.**_

**THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY**

"_**The enemy of my enemy is my friend."**_** – Arabic & Chinese Proverb**

"_**Love is friendship caught on fire."**_** – Jeremy Taylor**

It was a surprisingly hot and steamy night for mid-September – the humidity in the air, thick and stifling. As she strode through Diagon Alley towards her destination, Hermione spared a quick smile for the amazing recovery made by the storied shopping district. Just four months after the Battle of Hogwarts, one could hardly tell how the area had been decimated by Death Eaters. Indeed, thanks to magic, London's magical district was booming with new business, with shops, restaurants and bars springing up seemingly overnight.

She rounded the corner to a newer street, her heels clicking confidently on the cobblestones. She needed this. So much had happened so quickly, yet she felt as though her life was on "pause" since the final battle. After the initial battle shock wore off and the dead laid to rest, Hermione left for Australia in an ill-fated attempt to retrieve her parents. During that time, the spark that had briefly ignited between her and Ron in the heat of battle sputtered and died. It was, therefore, no big loss to her when – immediately after her return – Ron left with Harry for the Auror Academy for basic training.

Arriving at a nondescript door emanating a muffled, rhythmic thumping, she slipped the overgrown doorman a galleon tip and entered the club, cover-free. _At least there were __**some **__benefits to being a war-heroine,_ she smirked to herself, dropping her cloak with the coat-check witch and wading her way through the crowd to the bar. She ordered a drink – large, fruity and laden with strong spirits – and, drinking deeply from her glass, she turned to observe the scene before her.

Aftermath – An apropos name for a nightclub opened scant weeks after the biggest battle the wizarding world had seen in generations. Yet the owner and designer of the club interpreted the décor tastefully under the circumstances, drawing inspiration more from post-apocalyptic Muggle films than from the horrible reality their patrons recently survived. Concrete floors and walls adorned with shredded red banners, artfully distressed black leather seating, beaten metal accents – it brought an appropriately dystopian vibe to the club, as did the rumbling thump of the dubstep tracks echoing through the space and moving the bodies on the dance floor. It was the perfect place to lose herself for an evening – just one evening to not think, not feel, just _**BE**_. She took another long draw from her glass, about to step out into the dancing crowd when her night decidedly took a turn for the worse.

"Granger?"

A smooth, irritating voice drawled in her ear, "It _is_ you. What are you doing out without your lapdogs?"

She turned to the blonde man at her side, cringing inwardly at the carnal hunger she saw as he raked his grey eyes up and down her slim form, clad in second-skin leather pants and a stylishly ripped tee shirt.

"What do you want, Ferret?"

He tsk'ed quietly and smirked at her.

"Now, now, Mu... my dear. The war is over. There's no reason we can't be more _friendly_ with one another, hey?"

As he spoke, he reached out to run a hand through her long, straightened caramel locks. "Beautiful," he breathed, tugging lightly, "though I miss your mess of curls."

Jerking away from him, she raised a hand and smacked him cleanly on the cheek.

"Don't touch me, Malfoy. You may have gotten away with a slap on the wrist, but you were still a Death Eater. You disgust me."

With that, she knocked back the remainder of her drink, set the empty glass on the bar and strode off into the crowd, not wasting a single glance on her former classmate, who glared after her before joining a gaggle of hard-drinking, loud-mouthed rich boys in a corner booth.

**HG – TH – HG – TH – HG**

In the center of the dance floor, Hermione paused and took a deep breath, letting the pounding bass reverberate through her body and seep into her very soul. Then, she began to move, letting the heavy beats drive her worries and fears away – pushing down the mind-numbing uncertainty that had been crushing her since the end of the war and the alleged start of the rest of her life. Here, in the gritty darkness of Aftermath, she could let go of her stress with every flash of the strobe lights. She lost herself in the music and the movement, her hips twisting and chest heaving to the rhythm, surrounded on all sides by other bodies and souls equally lost in the heavy drops.

Suddenly, another body pressed tightly up against her back, moving in concert with her every gyration. Her eyes flew open and she turned her head slightly to the side in a brief panic, relaxing as she noticed dark hair, not the silver-blond she'd feared. A wry smirk twisted her full lips and she allowed her eyes to drift closed again as she writhed against the hard, lean body at her back. It seemed like ages passed as they ground against one another in the middle of the crowded dance floor. Alone, together, in the midst of the pulsating crowd. At some point, she turned to face him, her full breasts straining against her tee shirt and rubbing teasingly along his bared chest as they moved to the music.

Her partner looked like a dark angel in the chaos of the throbbing club. His hair was coffee brown and shaggy, falling over his deep-set dark blue eyes as they danced. His sharp cheekbones and strong jaw were marred only by a light scruff of dark stubble. He wore a pair of tight black jeans belted low on his hips, and a white hoodie with red and gold designs was unzipped over his wiry torso. An inky-black tattoo adorned his right pec – runes over a snake – and his lean-muscled chest was hairless except for a dark happy-trail below his navel. Her eyes were reluctantly dragged back up to his face and his full lips smirked at her undisguised appraisal. He leaned in, further into her scant personal space, and bent down towards her upturned face.

She felt his hot breath on her sweat-cooled skin and shivered lightly when he rasped in her ear, "Drink, Angel?"

A hot flush swept over her – the result of his blatant sexuality or simply belated awareness of their exertions on the dance floor, she couldn't say – so she nodded and followed his winding path through the gyrating bodies towards the bar.

**HG – TH – HG – TH – HG**

When Hermione caught up to him, he handed her a dripping, cold bottle of water and took a long draw from his own bottle. Taking the water from him and twisting her long hair into one hand, she held the cold bottle briefly against the back of her overheated neck with a contented sigh and a murmured, "Thanks."

His reply was mumbled around the butt of a freshly-lit cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful lips. She wrinkled her nose and turned from the sight. The daughter of dentists, she'd seen the horror of nicotine-stained teeth and was raised to loathe the noisome habit. She was poised to politely blow off her ad hoc date when her arm was grabbed and she was roughly pulled away, pressed against a nearby wall by another hard body.

"Think you can get away with smacking me in public, Mudblood? This isn't third year anymore, and as you say, I was a Big. Bad. Deatheater."

Malfoy grinned evilly down at her, tightening his grip on her arms and punctuating his last three words with thrusts of his hips against her. Shuddering with revulsion, Hermione struggled against him, seeking some leverage to force him off of her. Before she gained any ground, however, his blond head jerked backwards and he was literally dragged from her.

"Step away from the lady, Malfoy, or you'll be dealing with me."

Her dark angel stood toe-to-toe with her attacker, one large hand still clenched in Malfoy's platinum hair, pulling him away. "You okay, Angel?" he murmured around his cigarette, glancing over to verify her safety.

"Higgs, you fucking traitor. Choosing this Mudblood over your own housemates? Can't believe you call yourself a Slytherin, you pathetic waste…"

Raising one dark eyebrow, Higgs turned back to Malfoy and smirked. "In case you've forgotten, _friend_, the war is over and your sad little blood-ideology has been shattered, right along with the skull of that noseless prick you called 'Lord.' So why don't you take your little Pureblood posse and get the fuck out of my club, and don't come back."

He shoved Malfoy away from him, right into the chest of a hulking wizard wearing an Aftermath Staff shirt who swiftly escorted him from the premises, followed shortly by the other drunks from his table.

Turning back to Hermione, he stubbed out his cigarette on the end of the counter and flicked the butt into a nearby bin. "Now," he said in his husky voice, "are you really okay, Angel? Can I get you another drink?"

Hermione closed her mouth, which had dropped open at the sight of a Malfoy being unceremoniously tossed on his ass out the door, and cleared her throat. "Um, another water would be wonderful," she said, looking him over once again as he gestured to the attentive bartender. "You're a… You were a Slytherin in school?"

He chuckled, handing her another bottle. "Yes I was, so you probably don't remember me at all. Terrence Higgs. I graduated when you were in your third year."

She stared at him, head tilted quizzically to one side. "I think… Were… were you on your House team for Quidditch?"

His eyes hardened and his jaw briefly tightened before he answered.

"Yes. I was the Slytherin Seeker my fourth and fifth years. I was _supposed_ to keep the post `til I graduated… even had a strong shot to be Captain, but then that spoiled little fuck Malfoy bought his way onto the team and I was out. Hated that smug bastard ever since."

He gave a wry smile. "So no worries, Angel. Tonight's little entertainment was inevitable even if he hadn't been dumb enough to accost a beautiful woman in _my_ club. He's not welcome here."

She returned his smile, and shot a quick look around before asking, "So, Aftermath is yours, then? You own this club? I mean, you're, what? All of 21?"

He laughed then, a low, seductive sound that curled around her and settled warmly in her core.

"Yes, Angel, I do. One of the chief benefits of Slytherin house – Old Money. Especially useful if you are ambitious and conspicuously neutral, politically speaking. My family has never given a good goddamn about blood purity and all that other crap. Hell, if you track most families back far enough, NO ONE is PURELY Pureblood. Not even the precious Malfoys, though they'd never admit it. So, my family stayed out of the war and that fact kept our fortunes intact."

He paused and took out another cigarette, lighting it and taking a deep drag.

"Of course, being good Slytherins we always look for ways to turn situations to our advantage. I knew that, once the war ended, we'd need strong businesses to anchor the rebuilding of Diagon Alley and the Wizarding District of London. I was also sick to fuck of all the stress and drama from the war, and I knew others would be too. So I used part of my trust fund to open Aftermath. I wanted a place where any witch or wizard could come and escape their day-to-day life and just have a good time. I think I did okay, yeah, Angel?"

Ignoring the tendrils of smoke dancing around his head, she leaned up kissed one sharp cheekbone, then moved her mouth next to his ear. "It's Hermione. Hermione Granger."

He grinned a Cheshire grin and moved closer into her space.

"Oh I know your name, Angel, but I call them like I see them. You look like an angel, and you were surely heaven-sent. Everyone knows Potter could never have defeated Ol' Snakeface without your brain power and then we'd all be fucked. That's why you're my angel, Angel." He ended with a saucy wink, stubbed out his butt and with a seductive smirk, led her back out onto the dance floor.

**HG – TH – HG – TH – HG**

The night slipped away in a blur of dancing and sweat. The music played on, pushing through the subwoofers with an almost physical presence, thumping through her chest. Terrence never left her side and it was all too easy to get lost in the sensation of his body grinding intimately against hers. And, as the DJ wound down and the lights came up, there was no hesitation on her part. Wordlessly, she followed him up a hidden set of stairs and into a very modern, very classy loft apartment above Aftermath.

In moments, they were in his bedroom, kissing furiously, tongues clashing even as their hands stripped the damp clothing from their sticky bodies. And then, flesh on flesh, already sweat-slicked from their unending dance, hot and slippery against each other, tumbling to the bed. His strong, graceful hands dragged slowly over her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, as he learned her body inch by satiny inch. Moans and gasps escaped her as she succumbed to his mastery and gave in to the sensations her dark angel wrought in her – the touch of his hands, the cool silk duvet against her overheated skin, the trace of his lips along her neck and jawline, the maddening trail of his shaggy hair over her body as he explored. She closed her eyes in sensory overload, a tactile feast of erotic delights. Oh… and the heat... the heat of his hard length pressed tightly against her, instinctively thrusting lightly with her every response.

"I can't wait any longer, Angel… If you don't want this, you'd better speak up now because soon I won't be able to hold back…"

Hermione opened her eyes, looking directly into his stormy deep blue gaze, and reached one hand down to grasp his thickness, positioning it against her eager, soaked center. "I don't want this, Terrence. I _**need **_this. Please…" she sighed, her own hips thrusting up around him. "Please, _**now**_…"

At her desperate plea, his intense gaze burned hotter than ever and he groaned loudly, pushing forward and stretching her tightness around him, burying himself to the root in her heat. He paused a mere moment for them both to catch their breath, and then they began to move together – a glorious synchronicity as old as time, moving as one like they had on the dance floor – man and woman, striving and straining towards completion. His hands, roaming her body, returning again and again to her full breasts to tease her taut nipples. Her nails, ghosting over his chest and tight paps, scratching their way down his back and over his perfect, firm ass. Together, their muscles rippled and bodies quivered as the crest built higher and higher.

Terrence drove into her body faster and faster, throwing her legs over his shoulders to pound into her. Her hips snapped up in time, meeting each stroke, approaching her peak. Then, when it seemed nigh unto unbearable with passionate anticipation, he bent down and caught her lips in a passionate kiss, exploding into her just as she tumbled over the edge of mind-paralyzing pleasure – a moment of pure unadulterated bliss that shook both of them to their very cores.

As they caught their breath, he lowered her legs and turned their bodies gently, lying down on the bed beside her, arms curled protectively around her. "Oh Angel, you are amazing…" he murmured, kissing her once more and drifting off to sleep, still buried in her depths.

**HG – TH – HG – TH – HG**

A few hours later, Hermione awoke to the sensation of a large, warm hand slowly stroking up and down over the soft bare skin of her side. Stretching with a pleased moan, she turned her head to catch his eye. "Mmm… Good morning."

"Good morning, Angel. Care for some breakfast?"

She nodded, holding the silk sheets against her body to preserve some modesty in the light of day, and then slid out of the bed and hurried to the loo, clothes in hand.

He pulled his lanky body out of the bed, pulling his jeans back on and slipping his hoodie over his shoulders against the morning chill. Padding barefoot across the loft, he grabbed a few pastries from a cupboard and brought one over to her as she re-entered the room in just her torn shirt and low-cut pink French knickers. She took the pastry from him with a smile of thanks and sat down on the window seat overlooking the Wizarding district.

As she finished her breakfast, he joined her at the window, sitting down and pulling her prone, to lay on the window seat with her head in his lap. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, running a hand through her soft hair.

Gazing up at him, Hermione asked, "So, what does all this mean, Mr. Higgs?"

He smirked at her with a warm look in his eyes.

"I suppose that's up to you, Angel. I, for one, would like to see where this goes. I have a feeling this could be the start of something wonderful, something beyond mere friendship, but I leave the choice up to you, my dear. I'll settle for just friendship if that is what you want. Just know, I want more. I could happily spend the rest of my life like this…"

With those words, he leaned back against the window and lit a cigarette, puffing deeply and basking in the early morning sun, still playing idly with her golden locks.

There, laying in the sunlight with her beautiful dark angel, Hermione felt the apathy of the past few months dissipate, leaving only a sense of hope and anticipation for the future. With a start, she realized the date and grinned widely to herself. Seduced by the smirk of his lips, the curl of his hair and the filthy cigarette smoke puffed from his mouth…this could possibly be the best birthday yet.


End file.
